


Drivel

by second_skin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Stakeout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-10
Updated: 2012-07-10
Packaged: 2017-11-09 13:42:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/pseuds/second_skin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>See title. A meaningless, plotless kiss ficlet</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drivel

Lestrade lights a cigarette, takes a few drags, then tosses it out of the car window into the black, drizzly night. He turns the radio up a little louder. Always liked Otis Redding’s voice.

He has no idea why he's sitting here for the fifth night in a row, losing precious sleep, just because Mycroft Holmes asked him to. He does _not_ do everything Sherlock's bloody brother tells him to. _He does not_. He'd just rather do this than go home to an empty flat. Had he really said Julie could take all the furniture in the divorce? Temporary insanity, apparently. Which would also explain this thing with Mycroft. Which is not what everybody thinks it is.

Although he can't really say what it is.

Or what he wants it to be.

Or what Mycroft wants it to be.

_Bloody hell._

Lestrade checks his mobile. No recent messages from Donovan or Dimmock. Nothing from Sherlock. Of course not. Sherlock's smart enough to be asleep right now, not staked out for no good reason in front of some fanboy's flat. He's told Mycroft twenty times Jacob Sowersby is clearly no threat to Sherlock or John, but will he listen? No. Keeps insisting on surveillance. In the middle of the damn night. Even though the bloke is probably just sitting up there in his underwear having a wank with one hand and commenting on John's blog with the other.

From the rear seat Lestrade hears a little stirring, so he reaches back to punch Mycroft’s knee. The man always nods off like clockwork around one a.m, with a briefing binder in his lap. Lestrade usually lets him sleep 'til three. Doesn't mind listening to the soft breathing and mumbling. Always hopes he'll catch a bit of gossip about that Adler woman John mentioned, but so far nothing.

 

“Who’s singing? I like that better than the drivel you were listening to earlier. ” Mycroft stretches and yawns. And looks much less like the British government with his hair all askew like that.

“Otis Redding."

"Hmm. Very nice."

No idea why this is the moment he chooses, but what the hell. Lestrade thinks Mycroft has known what's on Lestrade's mind for weeks. Jesus, he's a Holmes--so he probably knew before Lestrade did. So why not get it over with now?  Mycroft will laugh in his face or crack open his head with that umbrella, and that'll be that. Maybe then he can go home and get some sleep.

 

"This is good snogging music, Mycroft. Want to sit up front with me?”

No answer. Lestrade can hear the man thumbing through his briefing book. He glances in the rear-view mirror to see Mycroft pulling a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbing at his forehead. He's closing the notebook, checking his pocket watch.

The D.I. starts singing low and slightly off-key, “These arms of mine, they’re yearning . . . yearning from wanting you . . .” He turns around and grins, slapping the passenger seat three times.

Mycroft sighs. Slowly, carefully folds and replaces the handkerchief in his breast pocket without looking at Lestrade. For a moment, Lestrade thinks he's misjudged the whole damn situation. _Well, bollocks._

Then Mycroft slips out of the back seat and into the front.

The deejay introduces a three-song ABBA set.

They sit in silence for another minute. Lestrade starts humming softly.

"My dear Inspector, as I learned on the first night of this surveillance operation, your version of “Dancing Queen” is a form of torture. And I've taken an oath to uphold the Geneva Conventions."

Lestrade feels Mycroft's long fingers curl against the back of his neck and pull him closer, warm breath against his cheek. Thinks maybe he feels Mycroft's heart beating strong and quick a few inches away--or maybe that's his own heartbeat.

Lestrade smiles and rubs his nose against Mycroft's, then licks the seam of Mycroft's lips. "I think the phrase you're looking for is: 'Shut up and kiss me.'"

"I thought you'd never ask."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Otis Redding, ["These Arms of Mine"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqVrNK4uiB4)


End file.
